


Wandering Home

by sonshineandshowers



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, post 1x17
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:14:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23303737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonshineandshowers/pseuds/sonshineandshowers
Summary: As soon as Eve left, Malcolm walked block after block. For hours. By the time night rolled in, he turned for Gil's. No call, no text, just arrived on his doorstep.
Relationships: Gil Arroyo & Malcolm Bright
Comments: 16
Kudos: 100





	Wandering Home

As soon as Eve left, Malcolm walked block after block. For _hours_. By the time night rolled in, he turned for Gil's. No call, no text, just arrived on his doorstep.

"You okay, kid?" Gil peeked out in between the door and the frame.

"Been better." His hand slipped over the back of his neck and he looked away from the door. "Is it okay I'm here?" he questioned, now unsure of his decision.

"Of course." Gil stepped back from the door to welcome him inside. "Come get yourself some tea."

Malcolm took him up on the offer, starting the kettle and selecting a raspberry herbal into a waiting mug. "You want some?"

"I'm good," Gil declined.

Malcolm looked around the kitchen, trying to decide where to put his eyes.

"What is it?"

"Can't figure out what to do with myself,” Malcolm admitted as if the information would get him into trouble.

"Huh?"

Malcolm waved him off.

Gil tried a different tactic, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Worried me yesterday."

"Bright-sized amount?"

Gil gave him a small smirk.

"You're the only one who's ever been constant in my life."

He looked small, broken. Sweat at his temples and a red tinge to his nose and eyes. "You want the bed? A snack? Some background noise?"

"I broke my phone."

"At the store?"

"Maybe I'll take the bed,” Malcolm returned to the original question.

Gil gestured his hand toward the guest room. Maybe he’d be a bit easier to follow with some sleep. “You know where everything is."

"You're always here."

"Yes, kid." Gil rubbed the back of his neck. "Get some sleep."

* * *

Gil woke to a roaring scream he hadn't experienced in years. He stood outside the door, waiting to hear Malcolm was okay, and padded out to the kitchen. Four AM. Typically too early for the coffee he started brewing, but he wouldn't be able to go back to sleep.

Malcolm sat in Jackie's chair, a fleece blanket going around him. "Sorry I woke you."

"It's okay."

He wanted to give Gil something for his trouble, but it was hard to find the words. "The Surgeon. My father - " Malcolm stopped, swallowing the attempt.

Gil looked on, trying to decide if he should start breakfast.

Malcolm pulled the blanket tighter around him. “What if I hurt her?”

“Huh?”

“It doesn’t make any sense.”

Gil wondered if he was actually part of the conversation, but supposed it didn’t matter either way if the kid was talking.

“Maybe I killed her.” The chair too much of a place of comfort, Malcolm stood and brought his blanket cloak with him.

“Bright?”

One hand held his head, all the pieces jumbling again. Standing at the window staring into the darkness, he forced himself not to bend over, not to submit to his father’s pressure.

“Kid?”

“Would he have done that?”

“Kid?” Gil repeated, his hand tentatively reaching out to touch the top of his shoulder.

Malcolm flinched, cowering away from the window. He shook his head, trying to sort his thoughts into piles that were less daunting. “I need to talk to my father.”

“That sounds like the worst idea,” Gil immediately dismissed.

“I need to know if I killed my girlfriend’s sister!” He clutched his head again, adding, “Ex.”

Gil stayed at the window, trying to give him some space, but it was like he was on a different planet. “Malcolm, I’m having hard time understanding.”

“I can’t do this, Gil. I _can’t_.” His head disappeared under the blanket as well, only his eyes peering out.

“Sit.” Malcolm looked at Jackie’s chair. “On the couch,” Gil suggested a substitute.

Malcolm’s knee bounced, his hands unable to still the spasming from his foot. “Did _I_ kill the girl in the box?”

“Malcolm - “

“I can’t.” Malcolm sprung to his feet again, this time leaving the blanket behind.

“A walk?” Gil offered an alternative.

Malcolm waited at the door, unknowingly tapping his foot, a puppy eager to get out onto the street. Gil didn’t bother getting dressed. He poured the coffee into to-go cups, pulled on his jacket, and they both headed out the door.

They paced several blocks, Gil waking up with the coffee and Malcolm using it to grip a warm reality that steadied his movements.

“Eve’s the girl’s sister. She showed me a picture of her,” Malcolm shared.

Gil took in the bitter information with a swig of coffee that did little to remove the taste. The kid couldn’t catch a break.

“I looked in the back of that car, Gil. On the camping trip.”

“That doesn’t mean - “

“That doesn’t _not_ mean either,” Malcolm disagreed, stutter stepping and then continuing down the street.

“You wouldn’t kill someone,” Gil said firmly. In his heart of hearts he knew Malcolm wasn’t capable.

“You can’t _know_ that.” Even Malcolm didn’t know that - how could anyone else?

“So who can? Him?” Gil pointed out the absurdity of the situation.

“Yes?” He pulled at his hair. “No?”

“This is my fault.” Gil shook his head at himself.

“How is this possibly _your_ fault?” Malcolm paused on the pavement, gaping at Gil, forcing him to pause as well.

“I brought you back to him,” Gil answered and started walking again, hoping the kid would get the hint.

“And I keep going back.” He rushed his steps to be side by side again.

Because he reunited them. For a case. So freakin’ stupid. And now the kid kept running back, ready to be leashed and taken out for a run.

“What do I _do_ Gil?” Surely he had the answer because Malcolm was floundering without it.

“I’m sorry, kid.”

Malcolm thought more information was coming, and when they walked another block and it didn’t, he asked, “For what?”

“Your relationship.”

“Yeah.” Malcolm shook his head. “That’s my own fault - trusting someone.”

Gil rubbed the back of Malcolm’s neck. “It won’t be this way every time.”

“Hasn’t gone the other way yet.”

They passed a bakery, the lights bright in the back but dim in front. “It’s too early to stop for muffins.”

“Ohhh no. None of those.” Malcolm waved his hands in protest.

“Omelets?”

“Toast.” Malcolm slid his hands back into his pockets. “Come with me to Claremont?”

“Talk to him together?” Gil supposed. A better alternative than Malcolm going there alone, but still not an outcome he was fond of.

“Or we keep walking the city - your pick,” Malcolm offered. It’d be a while before he could sit still again.

“Your pick, city boy.” Gil’s eyes left him with the question. Always willing to take care of him first.

“JT said I don’t do happy.”

“Differently than others, maybe.” Gil softened the harshness of making it seem like he didn’t have the emotion at all.

“You ever hide anything from Jackie?” Malcolm turned his eyes to him.

“Parts to repair a LeMans. Engraving on her wedding ring. Change to the stuffing one Thanksgiving.“ Gil smiled at the memories, recalling her reaction.

“So, little stuff.”

“Yeah. Looking back.” Gil put the memories back in the trunk. “You’ll meet someone else, kid.”

“I doubt it.”

“I know it.”

They turned the corner, Malcolm leading them back toward Gil’s apartment. “Every time he says my boy, we take a sip of whiskey later,” Malcolm suggested.

“Very funny.” Gil could barely keep up with the kid’s choice of conversation topics sometimes.

“You pick your bet to add to the mix.”

It was tough to decide what wouldn’t get them killed. “Anytime he answers a different question than we ask.”

At least he didn’t pick every time he snarled at either one of them. Still, it was going to be a lot of sips. “So we come back to your place and get drunk later.”

“Something like that.”

Something.

At last.

Malcolm pulled out his phone, calling ahead to Claremont that they would be visiting early.

“What happened?” Gil pointed at the screen before it went back in his pocket.

“Funny you should ask.”

Malcolm put his phone away with the rest of the secrets lingering in his head.

* * *

_fin_


End file.
